Chapter 21
Stark stops the truck and stares at me. I look back out the window and open the door, using the handle to swing down.
We’re at the Elders’ Chamber. It’s a large round building, board-and-batten around the sides.
The only windows are on the front doors and a few skylights on the coned roof.
I stand up straight and head toward the doors.
This morning, they summoned me before I had a chance to request a meeting.
Stark’s footsteps slosh in the slush behind me. “Can we talk before you go in? Please.”
“No.” I yank the door open.
Otis welcomes us in the small entryway. There’s another set of tall wooden doors behind him, one of which is carved with an image of a man, and the other a wolf.
“Aloka, you may enter. I will meet you inside.”
I nod and pull open the thick door, bracing its weight with my shoulder. Stark catches it and opens it the rest of the way.
“Stark, you must wait outside. This does not involve you.”
“I’m going in,” he says, not a request.
Otis steps up to Stark’s chest and places a hand on his arm. “If you go in, you will make things worse for her.”
Worse?
The door closes behind me with a thud. I approach the center of the room. Every Elder is here except Otis, but there’s an empty seat at the end closest to the doors. A raised semi-circle stage holds them behind a curved, solid-wood bench.
I swallow and smile. They won’t see me as useless after this.
Above me, the dome reaches its peak, shining a few sunlight beams across the dark room.
“Aloka Tutten,” Lunin addresses me.
“Yes, present, sir.” I give a slight bow.
“You have disobeyed the direct orders of an Alpha, as well as many Elders here.”
It doesn’t matter. What I did will help save them. Why can’t they focus on that?
“I did so in order to—”
“It does not matter your purpose. Did you or did you not leave the residence of Stark Lamont without permission for nine days, then return on foot after spending time with our current human enemy?”
“I did, but I—” I twist, looking for Graden and Otis, but they both stare down at their hands. Cowards.
“Enough.” Another Elder’s voice bounces off the round walls. Dino—he’s the one who cared about Pratt. Guess that courtesy didn’t extend far.
“You will be punished accordingly. We will consult now. Aloka Tutten, do not speak as you wait upon our decision,” the white-haired Elder says.
It can’t be too serious; they must see that I went to help the pack. Why else would I have gone there?
I vote for five lashes.
Five? She’s a near human. She won’t survive.
She must be held accountable.
Stark thinks he’s invincible, and he is not here to protect her.
She should have stayed with the humans.
My eyes scan their faces, trying to figure out who’s saying what. Heat rises in my chest, and I shift, sucking in a breath. Nails dig hard enough into my wrist to break the skin, and my magic flares in warning. The thoughts are too much, so I lock them out.
Lunin clears his throat. “The decision has been made. Aloka Tutten, you will be accountable for three lashes across the back.”
A few of them smile, while others murmur to each other.
“I got information to help. Please,” I plead.
“Darwin will be proceeding with the lashes and Irwin, please tie her.”
The Elder, a wide-set muscular man, I recognize as the one who slapped Stark across the stomach, stands and walks around the long bench. Another with a man bun rises and goes to the wall by the door, lifting down two ropes.
My heart races. Where’s Stark?
Tears fall down my cheeks. “I don’t think this is necessary.” I move again, and Irwin comes at me. There are twelve of them, and one of me. I never trained to fight werewolves — only hide from them.
“Please hold out your arms,” Irwin says.
I lift them and try to stay cool, with no success. He drops the long rope, taking the end and wrapping it around my bare skin. Tying it in a thick knot, he pulls, and my wrists grind into each other.
Dino wipes his face. “Can someone check the temperature in here?”
Irwin grabs the next rope and wraps my legs together, then he and Darwin push down on my shoulders, forcing me onto my knees. I try to move, but the ropes dig in further.
“It’s time,” someone says.
Irwin steps back and Darwin rubs his hands together as he walks past me. I stay down, waiting for whatever is about to happen.
A drumbeat starts somewhere behind me, with a slow thud. Then a growl shakes the room, and I twist my head, falling onto my tied wrists. A dark-brown wolf blocks the doors. He releases his claws and advances. I push myself up onto my knees and lean onto my forearms to brace.
“One,” Lunin states, and the drum rings out a loud beat.
I clench all my muscles, waiting. What does a lashing even mean?
The sound of movement comes from my right, and my back screams. So do I.
The drum picks up its pace again as heat grows inside me, and I know I need to stay calm. I try to envision cool water, but I can’t.
Claws, I realize. Lashings are from claws . . .
I look for a familiar face, but Graden just cups his mouth with his hand. Otis keeps his eyes down.
“Two.”
From the other side this time, the claws tear into my back. It’s excruciating.
“Stark!” I scream. I scream again, and tears flow without any restraint.
Where are you Pratt?
I’m breaking.
I sob harder, while the drum beat rings in my ears.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
My heart races.
I can almost hear him—You can do this, Alo. You’re not alone.
But I am. There’s no one here to save me.
I cry harder, sobbing noises escaping me.
As I pull in a breath and cool my chest to keep from turning, the drumbeats fade further away.
“Three.”
The claws dig deeper across the wounds.
I break and collapse on the restraints as a large slamming noise comes from across the room. Magic burns across me like being swept into a fire. My back spasms, and I open my eyes to find the men untying my arms and legs.
“What the fuck?” Stark’s voice booms across the room.
“Stark, you have no right to be in here.”
“She’s not a wolf. You’re killing her.”
He comes and touches my face. My body screams so loud I’m not sure how they don’t hear it. He reaches for my arms and helps me stand. I clamp his hand hard enough to bruise, and he walks me out, stepping over my dark blood.
“If she doesn’t heal, the pack will be holding a large funeral—and not for Aloka.”
The drive back to his house is a blur, and when we make it there, he pulls right up to the door.
“It’ll be—”
The door beside me opens before he finishes. Jocko’s eyes get wide. “What—?” His voice drops. “Who?”
“Who do you think?” Stark says, gripping my arms and lifting me down onto my feet. I can’t straighten from the pain shooting across my back.
“We’ll help you,” Jocko says.
“Stark,” I cry out.
He comes face to face with me. “What can I do?” His eyes search franticly from side to side.
“Bath,” I say, barely loud enough for him to hear. I cry out as we climb the steps. There’s no way they can carry me without making it worse.
Inside, Lirea comes up to us with Nikki, and both their faces collapse. “Aloka, what happened?” Nikki asks.
“The Elders . . .” Jocko answers for me.
“Let’s get her on a table,” says Lirea.
A few other gasps come from across the room.
“No, I’ll take her.” Stark grips my arm. I can’t feel it, but I can see it as I start sliding my feet across the smooth wooden floor.
“That’s crazy. You need help. She needs help.” Lirea blocks our path.
“Stark, come on. Let us help her,” says Nikki.
Whatever look Stark gives to them makes them all shut up. It’s not only a look though. I can see Nikki and Lirea mentally arguing, but I have no energy to listen, I need to get cold.
“Please,” I say, trying to tell him through my eyes that they can’t help.
A few hesitate before stepping to the side to let us pass.
When the bedroom door closes behind us, Stark leads me into the bathroom. He goes over to the tub and turns on the water.
“Cold,” I say.
He tilts his head, then rotates the knobs again. Water flows to the bottom of the tub, and I need to get in it.
Stark looks at my clothes. “You have to let me help, Alo.”
My face twitches at the familiar nickname.
My back burns, and I collapse forward.
“Cut it.” I point to what’s left of my shirt.
He grips the ends of my shorts with both hands and pulls it a part like paper.
Dropping them to the floor, his hands rise and start on my shirt.
A quivering sob escapes me each time it gets caught in the dried blood.
He slows his fingers and pulls at each strip of fabric until my skin is free.
He keeps his eyes on the floor and grabs my hand while I sink bare into the tub, folding over my knees.
I let the cold water flow up past my chest. My whole life, I’ve never been so thankful for a giant tub.
I slow my breathing, letting the cold water into my wounds. The tub water tints pink.
“What now? How is this bath going to help? You need stitches—lots of them.” He sits down on the edge of the tub.
“A cloth, please.” My voice is quiet, nearly drowned out by the water still filling the tub.
He reaches for one nearby, tentatively handing it to me, and I soak it under the running water.
Then I stop fighting the heat.
Stark’s eyes go wide as the water starts steaming, but I do my best to ignore it. I should kick him out, I just don’t want to. I’ve fought enough today, and it’s still morning.
“Are you not afraid?”
The question makes me pause.
“I’m afraid of a lot of things, Stark.”
His hand rubs the side of the tub. I glance at those eyes, soft, his face downturned.
“Are you afraid?” I ask.
“For you, always.”
I look down at my legs in the water, moving the washcloth over them.
“You’re fearless. You leave the house when pack members are hunting you. You leave and go see humans, even though you’re not a werewolf. If they knew where you came from . . . And the Elders . . .”
“I’m not fearless, I’m angry. The pack members .
. . you . . . you don’t know anything about me.
You all make assumptions, treating me like I’m this breakable, useless person.
The humans killed my brother—you seem to all forget that .
. . They took him from me. And the Elders .
. .” I shake my head. My back screams as I grip the cloth and fold it into a few layers.
Lifting it up to my mouth, I shove it in.
“What are you doing?”
I close my eyes and ignore him. I need to focus.
The heat burns inside me as I start low on my back.
I can’t see the cuts, but anywhere they cross, magic swarms there to fix them.
I fuel the fire, letting the inner flames burn as hot as they can, and it starts.
The wounds on my back start to close one my one.
I bite down hard on the cloth, choking on my own screams, my tears dripping off my cheeks.
He can’t see the lowest claw marks beneath the now-red water.
“Stop. You need to stop whatever you’re doing,”
I look up at Stark’s face, distraught. I shake my head no, and lift my hands out of the water to hold on to the tub. The two deepest cuts right below the surface of the water are last.
“Alo, your skin.”
I grip tight and let it burn. It’s worse than the cuts themselves as the layers comes together.
When I’m done, I pull the cloth from my mouth and pull in a breath. The cool water continues to flow into the tub, and I sink my head under it. My temples relax while the water rushes over my face. When my lungs calm and the magic in me sizzles, I sit up and turn the water off.
“A towel,” I say.
Stark shakes his head and grabs a large beige towel. He holds it out in front of himself, and I stand. He wraps it around me and lifts me out of the tub.
“Ah,” I cry out when the towel brushes over the freshly healed skin.
“What are you, Red?” he says.
Yes, I think. The answer is so close, and yet . . . Not that I can say that to you.
“I need to sleep,” I say, my voice a whisper. I start dragging my feet, but he scoops me up and walks me over to the bed. I am too tired to question it.
He lays me down and goes to grab the covers.
“No, I’m hot.”
“You’re not hot. You’re on fire.”
“Yeah,” I say and laugh, but it stops short.
He leans down and kisses my forehead.
I close my eyes and sleep.